Caution, Combustible
by promessa
Summary: ME2. It's hard to hate what you understand. Zaeed/Aria. One-shot.


**Caution, Combustible**

* * *

_lady_

Aria carefully studies the guest at the base of her steps and thinks that the infamous Zaeed Massani is smaller than she had imagined.

She's convinced that it's not the throbbing, epileptic club lights that make him seem less of a mercenary. And it's not because of depth perception, even though he really is standing quite a ways from her. Omega's new hotshot mercenary is genuinely no larger than any other human prowling Afterlife—Zaeed might be even slighter than most from his line of business.

Curious. Mercenaries that weren't intimidating had short, and often fatal, careers.

But if there is something that Aria has learned during her life, it's that humans were nothing if not resourceful. She should not be letting Zaeed's physical stature sway her opinion. Still, Zaeed seems so _tiny_ next to the batarian and krogan enforcers flanking him—

"He's tough," Patriarch assures her from nearby, sensing Aria's disquiet. He says it like his opinion is still worth something on Omega.

Aria doesn't show any indications of having heard, and instead beckons once with her index finger. The guards thoughtlessly shove Zaeed forward and something twists in the human's expression, a murderous air that is so brief it might as well have not occurred.

"Hands off," Zaeed growls. It's the first time Aria hears the human's eccentric, aggressive manner of speaking. She doesn't dislike it. "Any of you touch me again and you'll be missing those fingers. I'm not good with playing nice."

A smirk passes across Aria's face. Not because the guards that seem so giant next to Zaeed stiffen at the words, but because the entire while the human speaks, he keeps his rebellious gaze locked on hers. His good eye sparks with angry youth, chaotic and unrestrained. His infamy might have merit.

"You're doing a job for me," Aria announces, leaning back into her seat. One of the turians at her side flings a datapad towards the human, an action that is sudden enough to startle Zaeed into placing a hand on his sidearm even as he uses another to catch the pad mid-flight. "There's more if you complete this errand to my satisfaction. I hear that failure shouldn't be a concern of mine, when it comes to you."

He scans the datapad with the sort of unnatural speed that comes not from smarts but from practice, naturally picking out the important criteria for the assignment. One hand remains hovering next to his weapon the entire while.

"Goddamn cakewalk," Zaeed answers brusquely, before he has even gone through the entire dossier. Aria is not surprised by this response.

"I neglected to mention that there's a little condition."

Zaeed turns his attention back up towards her, throned far above. His false eye catches the lighting of the club just right and it glints like a worn diamond.

It's a simple job she's given him: eliminate a few groups of disgruntled former employees before they wised up enough to join forces. But any respectable mercenary should be able to complete prosaic tasks like these, she knows. What she wants to determine is whether Zaeed is worth more than a straightforward cleaning job. Whether Zaeed is deserving of his reputation.

Hustlers and liars are as plentiful on Omega as elcor dung, and just as worthless.

"I want this done by tomorrow," she declares, the calm in her voice leaving no ambiguity that it's an order rather than a request.

Zaeed's expression remains unchanged, stony. A good sign. "What's the rush, all of a sudden?"

"I want it done by tomorrow," Aria repeats, and tilts her head with sarcastic concern. "Is that a problem for you?"

Zaeed does not answer. His brow furrows and he looks back down to the datapad, then back up to her, deliberating on both with a solemn slowness. It's as if he had begun to consider his predicament for the very first time.

_That's_ exactly _what he's doing,_ Aria thinks. Youth brings a sense of misplaced confidence, assumed immortality. Zaeed appears young by human standards and she knows he has not been working on Omega long. Aria must have looked like nothing but a giant credit chit before this. He had forgotten who he was speaking to.

After a few moments, the human clicks the datapad off and tucks it into some hideaway slot within his armor. The hand that had been next to his weapon wanders back to a natural position, now relaxed. He seems to have come upon a revelation, something that gives him enough confidence to take a step towards the stairs.

The guards immediately train their weapons on the human—the sound of guns whirling to life and thermal clips priming becomes a collective, robotic wail. Patriarch makes a misguided, but foolishly loyal step forward to protect her.

They're all idiots.

Aria gives a senior guard standing behind Zaeed a pointed glance. The unspoken message is made clear amongst the rest of her staff when Zaeed takes his next step and doesn't become one of Omega's countless casualties.

Throughout it all, Zaeed has a crooked smile on his face. Aria can't read if he would have preferred they had fired.

"Not a problem, sweetheart. I can get it done. But since you were shit-brained enough to not give me a proper contract with your request in fine print, I got an announcement of my own."

He confidentially stomps one armored boot onto the steps and looks upward; cocksure, as if he was standing upon a great beast he had slain himself.

"My rates just doubled."

Aria stares at him. In the two seconds that pass, she considers whether to take his other eye with a single well-placed shot, or cripple his legs and throw him in with the game varren, or twist the connections of his naïve mind until they put out nothing but sputtering white noise.

On the third second, she laughs.

_"Double?"_ Aria's chuckles punctuate each disbelieving word. "Did you just ask for double? Who do you think you are?"

Zaeed is unruffled. "You know goddamn well who I am."

"You insolent—" Patriarch takes another lumbering step forward, ready to defend Aria's honor. Like a street trick from a vorcha swindler, a small, well-worn knife magically appears in Zaeed's hand.

"Easy there. Wouldn't want me to use this." With flourish, he mimics a motion similar to a hand-shovel digging into weed-infested soil.

Patriarch's approach halts.

Aria eyes Patriarch's back and just barely manages to hold her tongue. Zaeed's threat is genuine, but nevertheless Aria is reminded of the krogan's emerging cowardice. Even a few years ago Patriarch might have said or done something more, just for bravado. But nothing resembling battle-spirit inhabits that useless brute these days.

Instead it's the pitifully average human at the bottom of her stairs, defiant eye still locked onto hers, that had any sort of spine amongst the lot.

A wan smile almost crosses her face.

"Fine," Aria abruptly states. The words are like an invisible wave of the hand and her subordinates reholster their weapons. One of her senior guards leads Zaeed away, but not before the human gives Aria an approving nod, as if she had made a sensible decision.

Patriarch only makes an attempt to speak just the enforcers flanking Aria's couch remain.

"Aria—"

"Get out."

The formerly mighty warrior doesn't utter a single word of protest. He pathetically slinks away, likely to some bar, to try and remember days gone past. To share stories of his breathtaking battles, including a bout with Aria herself. It would crush his remaining heart to know that she doesn't remember much about that fight—only that she won, as she always has.

So there isn't a point in being angry at Patriarch, Aria reminds herself. He knows his place. And thus, he'll be forever loyal to her.

Aria closes her eyes. Even from where she sits, high above in her private box, there's the faintest reek of bullet-smoke and armor-sweat left by Zaeed: smells that should be familiar yet are wholly new. She commits these things to memory. It's been a long while since someone was worth that to her.

"Well," she says to no one. "Aren't you interesting."

* * *

Zaeed comes back from that assignment. And the next. And every one thereafter. She makes it a point to give him harder jobs, to test his limits. The more he gives, the more she asks. Her demands begin to take on a whimsical ridiculousness that reminds Aria of the justicar legends she heard as a child, when the protagonist was constantly placed against outlandish, unreasonable odds.

He comes back for payment every single time.

"I have another proposition," she announces one day while he confirms the transfer of credits to his account. He is at the base of the steps again, though no longer surrounded by Aria's entourage of soldiers. He has proven his worth, long ago.

"Give me a goddamn second, will ya?" Zaeed grunts irritably. His omni-tool dims once he has ascertained the payment is transferred. "I need a drink."

Aria tilts her chin upwards and a cocktail waitress steps into view, heeding the summon. The girl is a pretty young thing, an asari that's worked her way up to servicing the VIP lounges of Omega. Balanced carefully on one of her hands is a tray, complete with a handblown decanter that's filled with alcohol. There are also two chilled tumblers sitting side by side, gleaming like shards of ice.

Zaeed cautiously eyes the appearance of the new girl, then looks towards Aria with equal distrust.

"Come up here," Aria invites, which in her estimation, has been far too long.

Zaeed is not moved. "I can get my own goddamn drink. I don't want any of that top-shelf, watered down piss with names I can't even—"

"We have records of your prior purchases here, Zaeed. I suspect this one will suit your tastes." Aria shifts in her seat to a more upright, commanding position. "Just consider it a bonus. For all the work you've done for me."

Zaeed is watching Aria with that same deliberating look he gets when she makes a request that is not to his liking. She's grown to recognize some of his mannerisms.

"Come up here," Aria calmly repeats, "and let's have a toast."

It's a few seconds more before Zaeed trudges up the steps, grumbling under his breath the entire while. He takes a seat opposite of Aria and the waitress serves the both of them. With their drinks in hand, Aria raises her glass in Zaeed's direction.

"To us."

Zaeed only gives her another guarded look. Aria ignores it and polishes off the shot of liquor with a single deep swig. It's a human blended whiskey, judging from the aftertaste. Not her favorite.

He makes no move to drink. Aria studies him for a few silent moments, trying to decide if there remains any further benefit in attempting to appease him.

"I want to hire you full-time," she finally announces, without pretense.

Irritation replaces the distrust on his face. As she suspected, the proposition is not one he's taken by.

"What for? So I can be one of your goddamn decorative statues that stands around pretending to be important?"

"No. I'll find things to keep you busy. You'll be paid to your satisfaction. There are also other… fringe benefits if you work under me." Aria pointedly shifts her eyes towards the cocktail waitress, who is now standing just out of earshot of the two. "It's nothing but an improvement to our current arrangement, Zaeed. All I would need from you is your loyalty. You don't work for anyone else. Only me."

There's a long pause. Pounding bass thumps in the background, the club oblivious to the discussion between them. Zaeed scrutinizes the contents of his shot-glass, deep in thought.

"You can think it over for a few days," Aria offers, setting her own tumbler to the side. The waitress is quick to remove it. Zaeed traces the movements of the other asari, waiting for her to leave before he finally answers Aria.

"I can't take that offer. It's not good business."

If there's any reason for Zaeed to reject her request, that isn't the one Aria is expecting to hear. "Of course it's good business. It's a permanent—"

"No. You don't get it, sweetheart." Zaeed's gravely voice is somber. "I only work for myself. All these goddamn jobs, I do it because I want to. When you work with someone else, you start to expect certain things."

Aria furrows her brow in confusion. "And what's so bad about that?"

Zaeed continues to stare into his drink, his good eye unfocused and distant.

"Expectations are always betrayed. People get tired of each other. That's just the way things work." He suddenly tilts his head back and downs the liquor, as if trying to give himself the courage needed to continue speaking. He sets the empty glass at his side, just as Aria did moments earlier. "Even the things you never thought would change. Someday… they do."

Aria can't help but chuckle—not at Zaeed precisely, but more his serious demeanor. It's new and unexpected. "Zaeed Massani. Don't tell me you're the sensitive type."

"Even the things you never thought would change," he mumbles, low enough that it sounds as if he's speaking to himself.

The waitress makes another well-timed appearance and takes away his tumbler, before moving to Aria's side with another drink. Aria decides to take it. This time she sips slowly, teasing out the nuances of the whiskey. Zaeed doesn't meet her eyes throughout their silence, a trait she despises, but Aria knows better than to provoke a brooding mercenary— especially one she's trying to coax into her influence.

Finished with her drink, Aria absently traces a finger around the lip of her emptied glass. "What would convince you to work only for me, Zaeed?"

He glances up, new resolution on his face. "Let's just keep things professional between us, sweetheart. I don't do long-term anymore."

Aria crosses her legs and leans in, refusing to surrender. "We don't have to do long-term. I just want to make sure you don't turn on me. Things could get messy if you did."

Zaeed gives her an accusatory glare. "And even if I didn't, things could still get messy. Whatever you decide, goes. Ain't that right?"

Aria meets his glare with relish. This is the Zaeed she prefers, the one she's familiar with. It's also the Zaeed she knows she can deal with. "Of course. I _am_ Omega, after all. And I always get what I want. So let me say it again: think of the benefits you'd have if you stay on my good side. Just let me know what you want, Zaeed."

The hardness in Zaeed's expression softens, enough for her to sense impending victory. "No other contracts except from you. Is that all you're asking for?"

"That's all I'm asking for," Aria confirms.

"I'll let you know what I want then, sweetheart. I have a few trust issues myself. So I'm going to need a little something from _you_." There's a gleam in his eye, one that any asari that's left the safety of Thessia recognizes. He doesn't have to say anything more.

Typical male. Typical. If anyone else had ventured for this, she would have either had them killed or laughed them off Omega _then_ killed. But Zaeed's worth this much to her, and she likes him well enough to be curious.

Aria rises to her feet, a predatory smile spreading across her face.

"You should have just said that from the start."

* * *

Their sex is fierce and uninhibited. They fall into one another, devouring what they can like hungry beasts to a fresh kill. She likes it out in the open for all to see, their rhythms matching the pulsating beats of Afterlife. They seek each other out frequently, and she's surprised when she realizes that she genuinely enjoys his company. Once during, she tries to touch his mind with her own and is met with such a resistance that she involuntarily breaks from his embrace. He slows in his movements and gives her a particularly nasty look, one that she ignores. She can take all that she wants if she really wants to, and when she reaches in to kiss him again she bites his lower lip as reminder.

* * *

Their partnership is a good one. Zaeed proves his resourcefulness again and again, on the battlefield and off. Years pass, long enough for Aria to know that this investment is one of her better ones.

But not all Aria's investments turn out profitable.

"The weapons smuggling depot on Tuchanka still won't respond to our demands," Patriarch informs her one day during her regular group adviser meeting. Aria answers the update with an aggravated sigh, looking between her other advisers as if one of them would tell her differently.

"How long has this been going on? Remind me."

"About a week."

"It took you all a week to come back and tell me they wouldn't negotiate?" Aria's voice lowers with barely restrained menace, her anger getting the better of her. Incompetence is unavoidable—she's been around too long to not accept that much.

But continued buffoonery under Aria is fatal.

Patriarch glances between the other advisers, eyes pleading for rescue. When no rope is cast on his behalf, he continues speaking.

"We've tried multiple times. It's the Blood Pack that seized the outpost. The entire shipment of weapons is now theirs. They want us to send another shipment and a shuttle off Tuchanka."

"And then what?" Aria gives Patriarch an icy glare. "They make off with those weapons and take _our_ profit? Then they keep threatening us with friendly suggestions about the seized depot needing protection and the Blood Pack being the right group for it? I don't make deals like that, especially not with a bunch of idiotic krogan and sniveling vorcha."

"But—"

"I thought I made it clear that _no one_ fucks with me. Were you about to suggest we do otherwise?" Aria uncrosses her legs and rises from her seat on the couch, advancing towards the group with short, angry steps. Though she is dwarfed by most of her advisers, they involuntarily shrink upon her approach. She makes straight for Patriarch, eyes narrowed in threat.

Patriarch is already stammering out of nervousness. "Y-you know how the Blood Pack are, Aria. They won't give in unless they get what they want or they're dead."

Aria leans in close to the aged krogan. A single, mighty tremor shakes through the enormous brute when she breaks into his personal space— the memory of his defeat at her hands is an unclosing wound, easy for Aria to split open again. Aria gently reaches forward and touches the side of his hump, feeling him flinch underneath her hand.

"Then make them dead," she whispers.

Patriarch manages to hold his gaze upon hers. "I… we'd have to throw a lot of bodies at it. And none of them are probably going to make it back. Even if you send a squad of mercenaries, there's just too many things that can go wrong."

Despite his declining worth as a trophy, Patriarch's experience was still a valuable asset. Aria knows he's right—after all, she had only lost her temper, not her mind. The Blood Pack would welcome death on the battlefield over any sort of deal that didn't meet their approval. Even a group as dim-witted as theirs would know they had the leverage in negotiations.

Aria lowers her head in thought and senses the advisers visibly relaxing. Even Patriarch- she can feel his uneasiness abate through her touch.

"Why don't you send Zaeed? He could clean this up," Patriarch suggests.

"I'm not sending him to do something like this," Aria murmurs distractedly, still turning the situation over in her head. She had thought of dispatching Zaeed as soon as she heard about the situation; Zaeed is her one tool that fits any job. But even she knows when an assignment is unreasonable- she had a lot of practice with testing Zaeed's limits, early on in their partnership. Sending him to take on the Blood Pack when they were sitting on top of a significant weapons cache would be suicide, even for him.

Still. Hasn't he always come back to her? No matter the odds?

Patriarch presses on, sensing her lack of conviction. "We just need to send a small group, enough to scare them into a mistake. The Blood Pack will fight to the bitter end. They would sooner take down the whole depot with them than give it up."

Aria lifts her head. Patriarch's voice grows stronger with self-assurance.

"Besides, isn't this an opportunity for a clean break? How much loyalty can any mercenary have, except to credits?" Patriarch stares deeply into her eyes. "You cancel out two problems this way. Send Zaeed alone and—"

Before Patriarch can continue Aria shoves him aside. New anger grows in her, unexplainable. She's not certain what it is that irritates her, but Patriarch's words are too much to hear.

Aria's eyes trace around the group. She can sense their quiet agreement with Patriarch's solution, but she knows it's only out of convenience. They were still all useless idiots, after all. Unable to recognize the worth of Zaeed.

"Leave me. Leave me, all of you. I need to think."

They scatter, with Patriarch leading the retreat.

Aria settles back into her couch and rests her face in her palms. The rage that had filled her a few seconds ago is already dissolving to nothing, leaving nothing but exhaustion. And doubt.

Zaeed is worth a great deal to her. And that's exactly what's concerning.

She doesn't want to imagine Zaeed betraying her someday. But she also knows Zaeed is a unique case, a rogue that's gotten too close for too little. If they were only bound by words and credits, who was to say there wasn't someone with prettier words and more credits? The Shadow Broker was certain to have taken notice of Zaeed's illustrious mercenary career by now.

She can hold nothing over Zaeed, cannot threaten him with anything but his life. She had wanted to break some part of him for so very long now, any part of him, to hide away and have ready. She could simply take it, like she always has, but Zaeed means more to her than that. She had wanted him to offer it, give her something that he could never have back. And she was wrong to have thought that way. Wrong to have dealt with him as an equal.

True loyalty requires something more than words. More than a shared bed. Loyalty requires control, submission. And Zaeed has never truly submitted to her.

She weighs the choices against one another. What Zaeed means to her. What he could mean if he did, someday, leave her. Worse, turn on her.

Aria T'Loak weighs these choices and cannot help but think that for all her experience, all the generations she's lived, all that she's bent before her will, she's still unable to believe in unconditional loyalty. Not even from him.

She bites back a laugh, full of bitterness, and it rests acrid and sour in the back of her throat.

"Better luck next time," she mumbles, though she's not sure who she wants to hear it.

* * *

_luck_

Aria has finally given him a goddamn break.

Zaeed could scarcely believe the assignment when she had told him. A collection job on Tuchanka with the Blood Pack. It isn't high on his list of vacation planets and the company isn't his favorite, but it's the type of job where he can put his feet up and enjoy a good cigar before and after. In fact, he already had his first cigar a few hours ago.

It's a solo mission too, just the type he likes. His line of work is so full of utter shit: when the only qualification is the willingness to pull a trigger, the applicant pool tends to be mostly rubbish. While it's nice to have people to talk to on occasion, too often it comes down to him educating the other mercs about how to do a job correctly. Then it turns into a goddamn babysitting job, and he isn't paid extra for that. In fact the more people that made it to the end alive, the more split the earnings had to be split.

Sometimes he wonders why he doesn't just purposefully let the rest of the team blindly run into the line of fire. It would make it easier on himself to just do cleanup; he's wiping the team's ass most of the time, anyway. At this point Aria might as well just give him some security mechs as partners. They're good listeners, don't ask for an extra cut at the end, and didn't make a mess when they soaked up bullet-fire.

He navigates his way through the rubble-laden underground settlement the Blood Pack called camp, on guard but not concerned. He even catches himself humming a few times to himself, his mood is that goddamn good.

It's incredible, the turnaround his life has taken. Working under Aria is the best job he could have asked for. Aria is a harsh taskmaster to be sure, but his account keeps loading up with credits and the booze on Omega hasn't run out yet. What's more, if he stays in this gig there's an actual future- one he can see himself being a part of. Aria could be a bitch sometimes, but when she's sweet, Zaeed couldn't help but feel he could grow to love her more than even Jessie. Hell, a few years from now and he might be showing that Liselle of Aria's how to properly load a gun, like his own father did for him. And maybe not too long after that, telling Aria what had happened with the Blue Suns. If she ever decides to ask.

He never would have imagined going so soft, after being betrayed once before.

It isn't hard for him to find the contacts. A weapons cache is literally out in the open, like the Blood Pack are having a goddamn flea market. A few tankers, undoubtedly explosive, along with various missiles and other dangerous armaments are strewn about, utterly disorganized.

Zaeed takes note of these things. These foolish safety risks wouldn't be his business if things went down smoothly, but not all transactions go that way. Aria wouldn't have sent him if the Blood Pack were eager to pay what they owe. Things were certain to get messy.

Zaeed surveys the area. What looks to be the entire group is gathered near the cache—probably thirty members in all. Plus a few game varren they were busy pitting against one another. Though the Blood Pack are sure to have noticed his arrival, they pay Zaeed little heed. Krogans have a tendency to equate a single human's threat level to a rabid pyjak. Zaeed pointedly clears his throat.

One of the Blood Pack finally decides to stop cleaning his Claymore and lumbers over to greet him. The krogan stops just short of Zaeed and distastefully sniffs the air, as if the bounty hunter brought a specific kind of stink. Which makes little sense to Zaeed, considering what the Blood Pack called home is already a shithole.

"You one of Aria's?"

"That's right, sunshine. I'm here for the payment."

The krogan contact nods approvingly. "Glad to see Aria finally making some sense. We'll send a few of our men to make sure you brought all the weapons we wanted first."

He motions towards the group, not noticing Zaeed's confusion. Two vorcha and another krogan reluctantly leave their posts to join the conversation. The contact gives Zaeed an ugly, underhanded smile.

"By the way, you should protect your weapons depots better. Especially on Tuchanka. We'd be happy to look after this one in the future for you. For a price, of course."

Zaeed stares blankly at him. "What are you jabbering about?"

The krogan's smile slowly disappears. He looks towards the others in confusion, then back to Zaeed. The atmosphere grows tense within seconds.

"I thought we were clear on the deal. You don't have the payment?"

"I said I'm here for _my_ payment, you goddamn shit-for-brains."

"_Your_ payment?"

"What's going on?" the other krogan interjects, stepping forward and resting a hand on his shotgun. The vorcha begin to hiss threateningly, sensing the impending conflict.

"Human no bring weapons!" one of them shrieks, loudly enough that more of the Blood Pack take notice of the exchange. Zaeed can see the previously idle members making their way towards him, drawing their weapons as they approached.

The jig is up. Time for the fireworks to start. Jessie is in Zaeed's hands and pointed at the contact before the others can even react; the bitch must be in a bloodthirsty mood today.

"Hand over the creds or things are going to get even uglier than you," Zaeed growls, feeling the adrenaline start to tear through him.

The contact gives Zaeed a hard look, undaunted by the gun aimed at him. "I don't know what game you're playing, human. But our demands were clear. We won't give up the station unless you provide the additional shipment and a way off this planet."

"There's no shipment, you jackass. You're the one that's supposed to be paying—"

Zaeed abruptly trails off. The mercenary is a slow thinker, but Zaeed knows when he's being toyed with. The confidence of the other Blood Pack in the contact's words, and the disconnect between their expectations and Zaeed's orders, is more than enough for Zaeed to figure it out.

Zaeed's unexpected silence provides the contact with enough subtext to reach the same conclusion. Something that approaches pity crosses the krogan's face.

"I see. This is her answer, then." The krogan draws his Claymore, pointing the shotgun's muzzle towards Zaeed's chest. The other Blood Pack already have their own weapons trained on Zaeed, ready to fire in an instant.

"What a pointless way to decline our offer. She should have just killed you herself."

Zaeed doesn't hear the krogan's words.

It's not anger that he feels, surprisingly. No, the knowledge of the betrayal instead drains him of all that he is. His taut muscles slacken, great coils of strength unwinding and disappearing. Jessie almost wavers in his hands, sensing her owner's distress. Some distant part of his consciousness keeps him from simply tumbling onto his rear.

That Aria would do this shouldn't be a surprise, he tells himself. It shouldn't be. Business is always business. And it shouldn't tear at him this much. He hadn't given every part of himself to her, like he had with the Blue Suns. It shouldn't sting so badly.

It shouldn't. It absolutely shouldn't.

But it does.

It does because she probably feels nothing for making this decision. Feels nothing for the years they've shared. It pains him to imagine that she sees him as nothing more than another means to an end. Sees him not as Zaeed Massani, but only as the obedient mercenary, the expendable human bounty hunter.

It's painful. Because Zaeed sees Aria as more than just a title. More than just an asari.

Aria is a conqueror. She's a ruler. She's a queen. A mystery with a past of vague half-truths and dodgy anecdotes. An unfeeling tyrant that crushes any voice of dissent. A ruthless businesswoman that can swindle and rob competitors blind.

She's chaos. She's dissonance. She's Omega.

And for the briefest of moments, when he had looked deep into her eyes as she lay bare, her skin a mix of otherworldly colors from the club lights and their calloused fingers rested defenselessly atop each other, she had been his lover.

"That bitch," he mutters just as he fires at the tanker behind the group, and a second later all that's left is snarling fire, white-hot heat, and something that hurts more than his heart.

* * *

It takes him eighteen years to stand face to face with her again.

He goes along with Shepard to help find the recruits on Omega. He knows, as soon as they step into Afterlife, that he will see her again. He is not afraid of this moment. He lets Shepard and Aria talk it out and feigns ignorance of the personnel, which is not as difficult as he expected it would be. The enforcers and bodyguards are all different and he doesn't spy a single familiar face among them. Likewise, there isn't anyone to identify him. Zaeed wonders briefly if Patriarch is still around, or if the old krogan has outlived his usefulness to Aria. Just like Zaeed did.

When Shepard and the others step away, he lingers behind. Aria looks accepting of Zaeed's return; she doesn't have him shot the second Shepard is too far enough away to help.

After eighteen years, it's finally his chance to ask. To demand. To rage.

But he's silent. They both are. He stands at the bottom of her stairs still, just like when they had first met.

She's unchanged. Eighteen years to an asari might as well have been a goddamn drop in the bucket. But he's different now, very different. There's gray in his hair and he wakes up in the middle of the night with more ghostly, vengeful pains than even his declining memory can recount. Maybe that's why he can finally see her with fresh perspective, see how she still clings to the same ideals, how she's consumed by nothing but the belief that she will forever remain Omega.

He thinks it's fucking pathetic.

To Zaeed's surprise, she finally speaks first. "I don't see Jessie."

"Put Jessie down a while ago," he replies. Pause. "Damn good gun."

"It's been that long?" Her query is disinterested because she's aware of the answer. He responds anyway.

"It's been that long."

The conversation dies. That she knows he's been alive has never been in doubt; Zaeed has been on Omega numerous times since the incident. They had only pretended to overlook one another, like proud hawks respecting each other's hunting territory.

But now he's acknowledged her existence. Their past. And if she fears what he might do in vindication for her previous betrayal, she doesn't show it.

Because she doesn't _remember_ fear, Zaeed knows now, too late to matter. And it's why she'll die a lonelier death than even he.

"Going with Shepard, huh." Aria thinks those words over, contemplating its implications. After a weighed pause, she gives an approving nod. "You look good with that little group. Maybe it suits you. You were like that, once. Young. Driven."

And you were always a backstabbing bitch, he doesn't say. Only because he's not sure if he truly believes that, even after everything that has happened.

"Offer enough creds and I'd look good next to a volus escort," Zaeed grunts, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Colorful. As always," Aria adds, some amusement sneaking into her voice.

They fall silent again. Impossibly, Aria doesn't dismiss him... and he doesn't make a move to leave. Despite himself, he can't help but feel there's something comfortable in this silence. Safe. Familiar.

The quiet stretches on for nearly a full minute before he breaks it.

"Hey. You want to hear a story? For old times sake."

"Oh. Please, do tell," Aria sighs, managing to sound only partly sarcastic. She had never enjoyed his recollections, but today he really doesn't give a damn what she enjoys.

"My family used to have a dog. You know 'bout dogs?"

"Yes, I've heard of them."

"We had a mastiff, black as coal. Called her Meghan. She was a damn good dog. A mean looking beastie, but wouldn't hurt a single soul. She had been around for years before I came tumbling out of my mom, but I still got along great with that dog. I remember back when I was seven and still a no-good brat, I'd take Meghan out and we'd terrorize all the animals that lived in the forest near our house. We spent that entire summer spooking whatever creature we could see, and even those we couldn't. Birds, squirrels, you name it. The summer nights back then were unbelievable. You could smell a sweet kind of smokiness, like burnt honey, on the breeze when the sun had almost fully set. We'd always come home filthy and exhausted. Mom would spank me silly for dodging my chores and for giving my dad more shit to deal with by bringing that dirty dog home. It was a good time." Zaeed smiles distantly, boyish and young again.

"That was my last real memory with Meghan. Age caught up with her after that. She was already an old bitch, but the goddamn health problems started to come up in earnest. I couldn't play with her anymore and she wouldn't go for long walks. I lost interest and started to neglect her. Got into building model ships, but that's not the point. I just forgot about Meghan's existence because she wasn't around for me. My mom would be stuck with taking care of the old bitch, walking her and pretending she still had a few good months left so my dad wouldn't put her down. I don't think I ever really realized just what Meghan meant to the family.

"One winter afternoon, I went out to the forest. Funny thing is I don't even remember what for—I think it was because I saw a bigheaded fox that looked at me the wrong way, but my memory about that has gotten hazy. Might've even been another story. Anyway, I thought I knew the forest like the back of my hand and I would find my way back. Except after stumbling around for awhile, you start to realize you don't have many landmarks on the back of your hand when it's shit-deep in snow. I wasn't the toughest kid back then so I got cold quick. I remember that I was scared…if I'm remembering what being scared felt like. I could have just wanted to piss really badly. It was a bad feeling either way.

"When the light started to go, I thought I was a goner. You know how brats are. Parents leave their sight and they think they're abandoned for good. I rested up against a tree and just waited for the end, shivering my bony ass off the whole damn time. And wouldn't you know it, just when it got real dark and I couldn't see shit anymore—Meghan comes out of the shadows, dragging her rickety old legs with nothing but guts! I couldn't believe it. Meghan came right up to me and licked my cheek, and even with that stale dogbreath in my face… I couldn't have been happier to see her. She probably saved my life that day."

Zaeed pauses for a moment and sniffles, just once.

"That old bitch taught me about loyalty. What it meant to be devoted to another person, through the good times and the bad. I'll always remember that damn dog. Makes me feel goddamn nostalgic, just thinking about her. Especially since I'm the only one alive to tell that story."

Finished with his reminiscing, Zaeed looks up to see Aria resting her chin on a closed fist, thoroughly disinterested. It's not a new sight.

"Is that all? It's another typical ending to one of your tales," she says, having missed the point. "At least that much about your stories hasn't changed."

"Yeah. I guess not," Zaeed gruffly replies, refusing to let any disappointment leak into his tone. There are always people that don't care for his stories and treats them like the ravings of a lonely mercenary, left with nothing but memories of glory days and legendary contracts. He's learned to ignore those jackasses.

But strangely, it still hurts him to see her act that way, like she didn't care. He doesn't know why he gives a shit what she thinks anymore. He must still be a goddamn schoolboy at heart.

Zaeed shrugs, trying to look detached. "But who knows, sweetheart. Maybe you'll have better luck next time."

The two stare at each other and soon rough, knowing smiles stretch across their faces. A chuckle even makes its way through Aria's lips, dainty and feminine, and if he wasn't waxin' goddamn nostalgic before, the way the lights hit her now and the sparkle in her eyes makes him remember too many things that were goddamn _happy_ between them.

Hell, she might see the point of his story after all. Someday.

Zaeed nods, satisfied. "I'll be seeing you around."

"You will," Aria states coolly.

He leaves and joins Shepard's group. Any remaining thoughts of revenge and bloodlust leave him, blending into the glow of Afterlife and the cesspool that is Omega, where they belonged.

He disarms the timed inferno grenades under his armor that he had primed just before meeting her. She's not worth his life. Not anymore.

-End-

Author's Note: Dedicated to Robin Sachs. R.I.P. We'll all be big goddamn heroes someday.


End file.
